Digging In The Dirt
by Enlee
Summary: Cuddy finds out House is seeing a psychiatrist. Is he hiding something else as well? The sequel to "Slide Away". The Last Chapter is now up. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

So House had broken down and decided to see a psychiatrist. A psychiatrist in New York. That bit of news hit Cuddy like a sucker punch. And he didn't bother to tell her. That bit of news didn't surprise her, actually. But it did disappoint her a little.

She thought he trusted her by now, that he would know she would never tell anyone that he had decided it was time to bite the bullet and see a shrink. Hell, she would have gladly paid for the damn treatment herself if he had told her. Of course his insecurities had to rear their ugly heads and compel him to go behind her back. It was better than nothing, she supposed, but it still burned.

He had gone to bed early, claiming he had had a tiring day. Cuddy didn't argue with him. Considering all the scrapes and bruises that covered him, he had the right to use the excuse. She made a mental note to make sure he didn't use his wounds to try and weasel some extra Vicodin from her or Wilson. Still, she knew the real reason he went to bed early--to avoid talking to her. He didn't want her to lecture him. She wasn't going to, but she decided to let him think she was for now. Both of us needed some time to think and a little breathing room to do it.

She helped herself to some of his bourbon and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked into the amber liquid. It looked right back her, but didn't offer any answers.

What possessed House to seek out some help _now_? He seemed to be his usual cranky self. Nothing much had changed since they got together. Could that be the reason…because they _did_ get together? Was House having doubts about being in a relationship with his boss? No, that couldn't be it. House couldn't care less, and he'd laugh in the face of anyone who had the gall to tell him how 'wrong' it was. _Yes, I am a shameless bastard_. _Yes, I am living in sin_, he'd say, _and I'm loving every minute of it! _

Something at the hospital bothering him? Probably not. He was enjoying torturing his new team just as much as the old team. None of that ever caused him to lose any sleep. He lived to see how far he could push them until they pushed back. A patient? Nope. They were distant memories the second he figured them out. Nine times out of ten he couldn't be bothered to learn their names, let alone let one of them haunt him to the point of seeking therapy.

So if it wasn't something in the here and now, it was something from the past. His past had caught up with him and he couldn't deal with it by himself.

What the hell was it? What was so terrible that he had sought help from an hour away? More Daddy issues? Maybe some Mommy issues thrown in for good measure? Something else entirely? Good question. Too bad that stubborn bastard wouldn't tell her.

She finished her drink and rinsed out the glass. Dirty dishes from House's earlier meals were still stacked in the sink. She wouldn't be able to sleep knowing they were in there, so she washed them too. Just like he knew she would. Maybe she was becoming too predictable for her own good. She found herself wondering how the hell he managed to make it on his own for so long without a dishwasher or someone like her around to wash the damn things for him as she scrubbed some cemented oatmeal from a bowl.

The light from the hall illuminated the room enough. He was on his side, one arm stretched over the edge of the bed as if he had been trying to grasp something just out of his reach. For a moment she thought he was just pretending to be asleep so he wouldn't have to talk to her. She stood in the doorway, waiting for him to make the first move, to finally get fed up and say something. But he didn't. He was asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

She took a shower, brushed her teeth, put on one of his t-shirts and shuffled back to the bedroom. Back to the bed they had been sharing for several months now. He hadn't moved a muscle. She climbed in carefully, then pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed her eyes.

"Are you still mad at me?" House asked without bothering to turn around.

"How long have you been awake?," she inquired.

"The shower woke me up. Are you still mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you." It was the truth.

"And you lie like a rug."

"I'm not mad at you, " She repeated with a sigh, hoping it would sink in. "Were you ever going to tell me about the shrink, House?"

A few beats of silence, then he replied, "I was weighing the pros and the cons."

"Which weighed more?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"The cons."

"Why do you think that?"

"I'd rather not talk about that right now, if you don't mind."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow morning."

"We'll talk about it when I'm damn good and ready."

Cuddy asked, "When will that be?"

"When I say it is and not one second sooner."

"Turn around, House."

"No."

Dear God, the man could be frustrating. It was amazing she hadn't yet banged a hole in the wall with her head.

"Fine," she said, and spooned up behind him and planted a soft kiss on the back of his neck. "How's this? Any objections?"

"Nope." He chuckled, then took her hand. "You smell nice and clean. Been using that cucumber-melon bodywash again?"

That was what he wanted all along. He wasn't going to look at her, so she had to go and look at him. To do that, she had to get closer to him. Making sure things turned out in his favor, no matter the situation. Just another one of his mind games. Thankfully it was one she didn't mind losing.

"How did you wreck your motorcycle?" she asked, threading her fingers through his.

"Took a corner too fast."

"Where is your motorcycle?"

"Getting fixed."

"How's your arm? Does the bandage need to be changed?"

"I need you to quit talking so much, quit worrying so much and go to sleep," he replied. "But I know I'm only going to get two out of three."

"You can't always get what you want, House."

After some time he finally turned over to face her. "Neither of us can, Cuddy. Maybe someday we'll both realize that."


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you going to go back to the psychiatrist?" Cuddy asked quietly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Visions of a happier and less erratic House finally slaying a few of his demons flashed through her mind.

"I don't know. Do you want me to?"

Cuddy paused for a moment, then said, "Which answer will keep you from throwing a fit?"

"A lie won't do in this case," he replied. "But the truth shall set you free. Now tell me. I'm not going to throw a fit or have a meltdown or make you sleep on the front stoop. I asked you because I want to know what you think."

If House had already made up his mind then he wouldn't bother talking about it. He was asking her opinion. He was weighing his options. He wanted to see if he could get the pros to outweigh the cons this time.

"I would like you to keep seeing the psychiatrist," she answered, wishing that he would have done this fifteen years ago and saved everyone a lot of grief. "I think it would be a good idea."

"Hmmm," he noised. House didn't seem to be the least bit surprised by her answer. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Are you going to see the psychiatrist again, House?" Cuddy asked, hoping she didn't sound too much like she was begging.

"I haven't decided yet." He turned over onto his back and stretched his right leg out, his foot peeking out from under the blankets.

"When will you decide?"

"I have another appointment next week. I'll either go or I won't." His voice had the flat and matter-of-fact tone he used whenever he was through discussing a subject and was getting ready to shut down for the night.

Snuggling closer and resting her chin in the crook of his neck, Cuddy asked, "Will you let me know either way?"

"Sure." He wrapped his arm around her back. "Now let's get some sleep or neither of us will be going anywhere anytime soon."

* * *

Cuddy stood by House's desk and chewed on her bottom lip. Wilson sat on the edge of the chair. "He must have said something," she said, just to break the suffocating silence.

"He didn't," House replied, looking down at his desk blotter like he wanted to crawl under it and disappear.

Kutner had been late, so House sent Foreman and Thirteen to his apartment to see what was holding him up. They had found Dr. Lawrence Kutner in a pool of blood in his bedroom, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his temple. The out-of-nowhere suicide had blindsided the entire hospital. Even the normally detached and emotionally blunted Gregory House had been rattled by the news. Cuddy noticed that his eyes appeared to be a bit red.

She asked, "Was he moody or depressed lately?"

"No."

"House, are you sure?"

"What the hell do you two want from me?" House flared up. "I was his boss, not his confidant. What the hell makes you think he'd tell _me_ his feelings anyway? He showed up on time every morning, did his job and argued with me about anything and everything he could. And guess what? He did the exact same thing all day yesterday. Business as usual."

"You worked with him every day for two years," Wilson spoke up.

"And what would your point be?" the diagnostician asked his friend, the sarcasm dripping from his words like hot wax, ready to scald whatever bare skin it landed on. "You saw him around the hospital more than a few times. How come _you_ didn't notice something?"

"You didn't notice anything? Not one single, solitary thing out of the ordinary?" Wilson continued as if he hadn't heard what House had said three seconds earlier.

"How many different ways can I say that I didn't notice anything?"

"Not one out-of-place word or--"

"No, I didn't notice anything like that," House broke in. "Kutner didn't say a goddamn thing to anybody. He didn't say anything to me about being depressed. He didn't say anything to Taub or Thirteen or Foreman about being depressed, so you can spare them the bright lights and rubber hoses. Last night he sure as hell didn't tell me that the next time I saw him would be on a slab in the morgue. Anything else I already know, Captain Obvious?"

The oncologist took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "House, you notice everything--"

"Wilson, I am the merciless prick everyone thinks I am. But even I have to draw the line somewhere," House began in a low, monotonous growl that made Cuddy's hair stand on end. "For the last time, I _did not_ notice anything unusual about Kutner or his behaviour. If you think for one second that I went to bed last night knowing that one of my fellows was going to splatter his brains all over his bedroom wall and I did nothing to stop it…well, then you have three seconds to get the fuck out of my office and out of my life before I shove my cane so far up your--"

"_Stop it_!" Cuddy shrieked, her own voice ringing in her ears. "Both of you stop it, right now!"

"I didn't knowingly send Foreman and Thirteen to find the dead body of their colleague--"

"I know…I know." Wilson held up his hands in surrender, signaling House to back off. "I didn't mean to imply that you did anything like that. I'm sorry."

"Right," House grumbled, then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh full of gloom.

"Yeah, well…," Wilson paused, then stood up. "I need to get back to work. I'll be in my office if you need me." He hurried out the door without looking back.

Cuddy watched him go, then turned back to House. "I need to get going, too," she said quietly. "Come by my place later. You can help me finish my wine. I think you deserve a break tonight."

"Sure."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's not my loss," he told her, rubbing his eyes.

Detaching himself again. Blunting his feelings to everything around him again. He can't get hurt if he doesn't feel anything.

"I'm sorry you don't think it's your loss," she said with a frown, then turned and left without another word, feeling his eyes burning a hole in her back.


	3. Chapter 3

"He was an okay kid," House said, sipping his wine. The unapologetic kitchen lights made his face look much more haggard than it had to be.

"Just okay?"

"I'd say he was a super-fantastic loveable guy we all just adored so gosh-darned much, and the entire world is in mourning. But that would be a lie, and Kutner would be the first one to call me out on that."

Cuddy let those words hang in the air as she set the bottle down. House was feeling chatty at the moment and she wasn't going to stop him from saying what was on his mind, no matter how off-the-wall it may turn out to be. House wasn't being polite just because his underling had been dead less than a day. The reality of what had happened was starting to sink in. Kutner had blown his own head off and House was going to drive himself and everyone else crazy trying to figure out why. She reached for her own glass of wine; there were only two bottles and she hoped House wouldn't drink both of them over the next few hours.

_It isn't my loss._

_That's what you think, House._

He went on: "He was a still a little green around the gills and a little too gung-ho for his own good, but he had what it took to be a halfway decent doctor."

"That's very nice of you to say."

"I suppose it is." He turned to her with a diminutive smirk. "_You, _however…you were willing to give him the boot over a thong."

"I thought he was going to burn down my hospital," Cuddy explained, then chuckled at the memory. "He was a bankrupting lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Did Big Love get to see you take off your thong?"

"No. You can stop hyperventilating now."

"Any regrets with keeping a walking liability like Kutner around, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Other than him setting a patient on fire, the answer is no," she answered, then blurted out without thinking, "Did you have any?"

"No," he replied with complete sincerity. The rest of his wine disappeared with three swallows, and he set the empty glass down and made no move to refill it. "He was always willing to go along with whatever I did, no matter how ridiculous it was. Can't complain about that. But he did question my decisions sometimes. He wasn't afraid to do that. He was usually wrong, of course, but you gotta give him credit for trying. I'd rip him to shreds and he'd come right back for more. Too bad he never got a hang of the defibrillators. I swear he was going to end up killing himse--he was going to get in trouble with those things, being a walking liability and all." House reached for the bottle and refilled his glass with too much wine. "But the idiot had to go and…do a stupid thing. Just stupid. That I can't give him credit for. Like I said, too damned gung-ho for his own good. Stupid jerk."

"Did he leave a note?"

"If he did, nobody's found it yet. I'm sure my name will be in it somewhere. Or Taub's," House answered with a humorless snicker.

Cuddy glanced at the bottle sitting on her table and frowned. She was going to have to cut him off after that bottle was empty, whether he liked it or not. "House."

"What?"

"Get off Taub's back."

Caught off guard, he almost knocked over his glass while reaching for it.

"Enough with dragging his personal life through the mud. He's been through enough already. Neither of us want to see you lose another member of your team."

"Are you saying Taub is suicidal now? Is this a very special episode of Princeton Plainsboro? Do we all learn a valuable lesson and hug at the end? The ratings will be throught the roof, I'm sure. Where will I put my Emmy?"

"He's not suicidal. He's one straw away from having a broken back," she explained stoically. "That straw doesn't need to be you. So I'm saying back off and give him some breathing room."

"Too bad, so sad. Life is never fair, Cuddy. Taub knows that. Nobody can have their entire cake and eat it with extra ice cream without paying for it with a bellyache. Taub knew that the second his affair cost him his career as a plastic surgeon. He knows there isn't anything fair about not being able to save your patient no matter what you do or how hard you try, or he would have gone to business school instead. He knew that nothing is or would ever be fair the second he decided that he wanted to work for me. Why should I feel the least bit sorry for a guy who deals exactly with what I deal with every single day?"

"You and your leg know that nothing is fair, either," she said without missing a beat.

House didn't blink. "I knew that long before the infarction. My father taught me that lesson. He never let me forget it, and I've never forgotten it."

"You're not your father, House. Behavior is a choice and you don't have to make the same choices your father did. Back off Taub. Please."

He looked away, and she barely heard the "I will" mumbled under his breath.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"See, you're better than your father and you know it."

"I certainly hope I'm not my father. And I am better than him--the son of a bitch is dead, just like a member of my team. Funny how these things work out, isn't it?"

He took another gulp of wine and waited for her answer.

"It's not funny," Cuddy replied stoically, not a trace of humor in her words.

"You're right," House agreed with a nod. "It isn't funny at all."


	4. Chapter 4

She didn't want the second half of her chicken salad sandwich. She ate only because she needed something in her stomach before she felt shaky from lack of food and low blood sugar. She handed the food over to House. He was more than eager to take it even if it didn't have the extra dill relish that he had been requesting lately.

"You want anything else?" she asked, setting her now empty plate aside.

"This is plenty."

"There's ice cream if you want some later," she reminding him, knowing that he could never resist a treat.

The ice cream hadn't been opened yet and would be gone in two days once House got his hands on it. The man shamelessly loved his junk food. Efforts to get him to eat at least a few more fruits and vegetables during their meals together were met with minimal success. But she decided that House devouring a gallon of ice cream was better than House devouring a bottle of bourbon, and kept the treats in her freezer. The only complaints she got about the ice cream were when he ate too fast and got a brain freeze.

"What flavor?" he inquired. Nevermind that he would eat it no matter what flavor it was.

"Mint chocolate chip."

"Yummy!"

Cuddy waited a few moments before asking, "When is your appointment?"

His mouth was full, so all he managed was a "Hnnph?" to her question.

"Your next appointment with the psychiatrist. When is it?"

House swallowed his food and answered with reluctance, "Friday."

Cuddy noticed he only talked about seeing the psychiatrist when she directly asked him about it. It was off limits to everyone but her, but she was smart enough to know that he would slam the door shut on her if she crossed the invisible line. She knew that he regretted her finding out about it. Because he didn't want to admit that he had finally called his own bluff and went to seek outside help. Like he felt he was somehow weaker for doing so and nobody could convince him otherwise.

"Are you going to go?" she asked quietly

"I haven't decided yet."

His expression was blank. Cuddy was hoping for some hint on which way he was leaning and got nothing. House was the master at hiding his emotions, this evening being no exception.

"Considering what's happened--"

"I _am_ considering it," he broke in, his voice sharp. "I'm not just going to forget what happened today. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not at all. Believe me, Cuddy, I didn't want to remember Kutner as the kid who blew his head off in the prime of his life."

"I know you didn't," she said, drawing out each word carefully so he would know that was the last thing she thought, and damn him if he even considered it.

"Stupid fucking idiot," he mumbled, then smacked his hand down on the table, making her jump.

"It's not your fault, House."

"It's nobody's fault but Kutner's. But that doesn't make him any less dead," he muttered in a voice that sounded like it been dragged over gravel.

Cuddy wasn't sure if he meant for her to hear that or not.

"House…why did you finally decide to see a psychiatrist? What happened?"

He made her wait until he finished his sandwich before answering, "It wasn't one thing that happened. It was a lot of things over many years. I figured it was better to see a shrink now before I lost you or Wilson or both for good this time."

Cuddy had to agree with him on that and decided he didn't need to hear her say it out loud.

"You said behavior was a choice. I agree with that," House continued. "I've made a lot of bad choices and some of them have cost me dearly. I was hoping to get a little insight on why I act the way I do and maybe I could stop making so many bad decisions."

"Bad decisions? What are you--"

"You know what bad decisions I'm talking about," he said flatly. "Don't try to make me feel better by pretending not to. You still keep some money set aside lawsuits from patients that I've seen. I still hate ninety-nine percent of humanity. I'm still addicted to Vicodin. I'm still going to terrorize Taub about every little mistake he makes tomorrow and I won't be able to stop myself."

She wondered where she fit into his "bad" decisions, if anywhere at all.

As if reading her mind, he said, "None of my bad decisions were because of you, Cuddy. They never will be."


	5. Chapter 5

She looked over at House's side of the bed, empty at three in the morning.

It hadn't been one of those nights where House had tossed and turned for hours before finally giving in to the insomnia and grumbling his way out of the bedroom. There was no reason to grumble his way out of the bedroom. He hadn't been to bed yet. He was still out in the living room. Cuddy would bet a thousand dollars that he was still wearing his shoes.

A soft clink of silverware. Another bowl of ice cream was being devoured, she was sure of it.

Cuddy sighed; she couldn't stand it anymore. She threw back the covers with impatience and went to see what the hell he was really up to in the middle of the night.

An infomercial pitching a food processor that promised to change your life in so many ways was playing on the television as she shuffled to the sofa. She had been right about the ice cream; House was finishing up the last soupy remains. His shoes were off and parked under the table. His sleeves were rolled up and his watch reflected the soft golden light in the room. It was the watch Kutner had given him as a Christmas gift.

As she sank into the cushion next to him, House said, "Yes, Dr. Cuddy?"

"What are you still doing up?"

"Catching up on my infomercials. I'm waiting for the Turbo Jam one. That Chalene chick is _hot_."

Not believing that for a second, Cuddy said, "You were thinking about Kutner, trying to figure out what you may have missed."

"I'm watching this crap so I don't have to think about Kutner or the fact that I'm going to have to admit that there was nothing to miss," he replied without missing a beat. "We'll never know why because he didn't want us to know. Maybe he thought that would make it so much easier for everyone to accept."

Not knowing what to say to that, she decided it was time to change the subject. "Come to bed, House."

"I'm not tired," he said in a rather matter-of-fact way, slurping up the last remaining chocolate chips.

"Not at all? You put in a full day at the hospital. You've been up for nearly twenty hours now."

"And your point? If I'm not tired then I'm not tired." He set his empty bowl down and looked at her, and she noted a hint of disapproval in his eyes. "You shouldn't be up at this insane hour just because I am."

"I was lonely."

"It's not like I'm Alaska or anything. You don't have to stay up all night because I do."

"So keep me company," she suggested, tugging on his arm.

"I'll just keep you awake," House said. "I'm sure you can live without me for a few hours."

Cuddy wasn't about to give up so easily. Tugging on his arm again, she insisted, "Not when I know you're out here, fifty feet away."

He smiled his patented crooked smile. "Is that why you're always checking up on me in the clinic? Because you can't stand being away from me?"

"That and I'm making sure you don't traumatize your patients too badly."

"So many idiots…so little time…"

"House--"

"What?" he said with overcooked shock. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong, and you need to come and lie down with me."

"I'll just--"

"I've had my share of insanely long nights, too," she cut in. "This won't be the first time I haven't had enough sleep, either. I'll buy us the biggest coffees available at Starbucks tomorrow." Glancing at the cheeseball infomercial, Cuddy asked, "Are you really going to spend the next few hours with some stupid kitchen gadgets and ab machines, and not with me?"

Looking from the television to her and back again as he pretended to think it over, House said, "Of course not." He grabbed the remoted and clicked the TV off, then nodded toward the bedroom. "Go on…I'll be there in a few minutes."

Cuddy waited until her back was turned to break out into a huge, smug grin.

Back in bed she curled up and watched the door, listening to the floorboards creak and the tap of his cane as he limped around the apartment, finally making his way down the hall to the bathroom. The low hum of running water and House brushing his teeth. He was taking his sweet time. That was fine. Cuddy would wait for as long as took. She heard him cough, and there was a snick as he turned off the bathroom.

It was seven steps from the bathroom to the bedroom. He stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"I'm here. Are you happy now?"

"Yes."

"How happy?"

"Very happy," she declared. "I'll be much happier, ecstatic even, when you get your ass over here and under the covers."

"Nag, nag, nag," he teased as he flicked off the hallway light, then limped into the room and began to unbutton his jeans. "You can stop grinning like an idiot now."

"I've earned this grin. Now hurry up and get over here."

"Yes, mistress."

After what seem like an eternity, he finally slid under the covers. She didn't even wait until he was comfortable before wrapping her arms around him like a vine and planting a sloppy kiss on his scruffy cheek. "It's about time."

House laughed softly and said, "But I'm _so_ worth the wait."

"You are," she agreed.

"Got another kiss for me?"

"I have plenty," Cuddy said, giving him a warm, deep kiss. "Can't get _that_ from some cheesy infomercial, can you?"


	6. Chapter 6

He was sitting in his spot on the sofa, watching the morning news and dressed in the wrinkly clothes that hadn't seen the business end of an iron since the Reagan administration. His eyes looked tired. Cuddy wondered how much sleep he got, if he got any at all. He was holding a huge steaming mug of coffee. Another mug was on the table. Judging by the healthy swirls of steam rising from the contents it hadn't been waiting there longer than a few minutes.

She eyed it and tried to hide her disbelief when she asked, "Is that for me?"

"Actually it's for Carmen Electra," he deadpanned. "But she's not here yet so I guess you can have it."

"Thank you," she said blithely, taking a seat. The scent of soap and shampoo from the shower he had taken earlier wafted over from his still damp hair like a summer breeze.

"You're welcome. I don't have any of that fancy-schmancy high-end ultra-smooth gourmet coffee, so I'm afraid plain old instant will have to do. Until you spring for the Starbucks, of course."

"Of course. Is there breakfast, too?"

House took a gulp of his drink before answering, "I'm afraid coffee was the best I could come up with right now. I didn't know what you wanted for breakfast, so I figured it was better to leave that up to you. Don't want to waste food in this economy, you know."

"No, we don't," Cuddy agreed with a sip from her mug, knowing that House really didn't give a damn whether a bowl of cereal or a couple of eggs got wasted. But he knew she did care about such things and decided to save face rather than piss her off by wasting some perfectly good food. "Is there any cereal left?"

"There should be some Corn Flakes."

"What do you want?"

"I already ate."

She blinked, surprised for the second time in less than two minutes. "Since when do you fix your own meals when I'm around to fix them for you? Do you mind if I ask what the occasion is?"

He said, "I was hungry when I got up. I thought about waking you up to make me breakfast, but I decided that I liked my manhood intact."

"I think that's for the best," she said, managing to keep a straight face as she stood up. If he ate before she got up then he really must have been hungry, or else he would have just sat there killing time until the alarm went off and she got up and shuffled to make whatever he was in the mood for that morning.

"I thought so."

"Do you want some toast or anything?"

"No, I'm good."

Cuddy padded to the kitchen and took a bowl from the cabinet. It was Wednesday. His appointment was on Friday. He hadn't brought it up, and he wasn't going to. Not until he was ready and that could be a very long wait with House. Though she had earned his trust, pushing him too much would just make him push back twice as hard and things could get ugly when that happened. The meltdown he had had in her living room after she had pushed him too hard about Wilson breaking off their friendship flashed all too vividly across her mind. The next meltdown--knock on wood there wouldn't be a next one--might not end with a relatively unscathed House locking himself in the bathroom. She just had to accept that there were some places House would never let her into. The deadbolts were thrown on those doors and House had thrown away the keys.

She poured a heaping pile of cereal into the bowl and was slicing in a banana when House surprised her for the third time that morning when he limped into the kitchen with her cup of coffee, set it on the table, then went back for his.

"We can watch the news if you want," she called after him.

"There's nothing on there worth watching," House informed her as he made his way back to the kitchen and sat down in the nearest chair. "The economy sucks, the weather sucks, the world sucks. That's the news in a nutshell."

Cuddy tossed the banana peel and brought her cereal to the table.

"No good news, House?" she asked, watching as he snatched a piece of banana from her bowl. "I thought you already had breakfast."

"My breakfast, not yours," he replied, popping the stolen piece of food into his mouth. "To answer your question--no."

"Nothing good at all?"

"Not that I saw." He sounded resigned to that fact. "I usually don't look for the bright side of things because nine times out of ten there isn't one to look for. People will keep doing stupid things because people are stupid. That's the way things are. That's the way things will stay."

"Does the stupid label apply to me, House?" Cuddy had to ask.

"No."

"Do you really think the world is such a terrible place?"

"Yes," he answered flatly.

"If the world is so terrible, why did you go through the trouble of making a cup of coffee for me this morning? The world is still going to suck whether we have coffee or not."

"Because I can affect what happens in my apartment. I can make the things around me turn in my favor," he explained, and stole another piece of banana. "Sometimes it can be worth digging in the dirt for that elusive something if you're not afraid to get your hands muddy. The tenth time I looked I found the bright side of things, and I'd like her stick around for a while."


	7. Chapter 7

It was early, but she was exhausted. He was catching up on the shows he had recorded while she stole a glance at his empty side of the bed.

She had caught only a few fleeting glimpses of him over the day, once in the cafeteria where he had been sitting with Wilson and stealing half the french fries off his plate. The huge coffees she had bought that morning certainly did the trick; she had been running around effortlessly all day before finally having to stop for a late lunch. Only when she sat down to wolf down a salad did she realize how tired she was. It took another huge cup of coffee to get her up and running so she could make it through the rest of the day.

A few last minute paperwork emergencies that weren't really emergencies had kept her at the hospital for an extra ninety minutes. Thankfully House wasn't too grouchy by the time she had arrived at his apartment. He had been smart enough to think ahead and order some pizza only a few minutes before, and she had rewarded him with a quick and dirty necking session while waiting for the knock on the door. It was too bad the endless work hours and stomach full of pepperoni and cheese left her too tired to pick up where they had left off. So she had settled for lounging against him and dozing as he caught up on his monster truck shows.

Now she was paying the full price of the long day; it felt like her eyelids were being weighed down with cement blocks. She wanted to go and coax House to come to bed and keep her company but she barely had the energy to think about it, let alone get up make the effort to stagger out to the living room. She had to content herself with merely imagining House coming in and curling up around her sleeping form as she drifted off.

The screech of the alarm cut tore the quiet of the morning and Cuddy nearly went through the ceiling. After reaching over and slamming the blasted contraption off she took a few seconds to come back to earth and get her bearings. She grumbled about how much she hated mornings and expected an answer in return. She didn't get one. The alarm clock was on House's side of the bed. House's side of the bed still had the covers pulled up, undisturbed.

Worry and dread mixed into a rancid stew in the pit of her stomach as she jumped out of bed and hurried to the living room. The lights were off, the TV quiet, his spot on the sofa empty.

"House?" she called out, trying to keep the worry from overwhelming her voice.

"In here."

His voice came from the kitchen. She couldn't see in there from where she standing.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, she made a beeline towards his voice and found him at the table reading one of his medical journals. Bright morning light shined through the windows and that's probably why House had moved his reading in there. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.

Looking him up and down, she asked, "Did you even sleep last night?"

"No," he answered in a bored voice, as if she had asked him if he wanted mayonnaise instead of mustard on his sandwich. "You might want to fill up the coffee pot. I could really go for some oatmeal this morning, if you wouldn't mind."

"Have you been out here all night?" she said, walking around the table to get a better look at him. His reading glasses did nothing to hide his red and tired eyes.

"I watched TV until got I bored with it, then I read. I moved in here when the sun came up."

"Are you feeling okay?" The worry returned to her voice and House picked up on it in a heartbeat.

"I'm fine," he reassured her. "A little tired, but fine."

"You've barely slept in the last two days. Do you need to go lay down for a few hours or take the day off? I'll make your sure your team is--"

"I've stayed up all night before and I'll do it again. It's no big deal. I'm fine. My team has nothing to worry about and neither do you."

"Are you sure?" She cupped his face in her hands.

Gently pushing her hands away, he said, "Cuddy, I wouldn't be in here reading if I was sick. Worry about the hospital or lost puppies or cute little kitties. Don't worry about me just because I'm an insomniac who doesn't go to bed at nine o'clock every night."

"You didn't even come to bed all."

"I wouldn't have slept anyway, and I would have woke you up if I did go to bed," House replied, as if that explained everything.

"You could have kept me company for a while," she pouted. "I missed you."

"Then you would have kicked me out for keeping you awake and I'd be out here reading anyway."

"I'd never kick you out of bed."

"Actually, the only reason you'd kick me out of bed is so you could do me on the floor," he said with a crooked grin. "But that's another argument for another time. Right now both of us could use a nice, hot breakfast."

"And a cold shower?" she asked, relaxing a bit and returning his grin.

"That, too."

She chuckled and said, "How about the hot breakfast first. Oatmeal, you said?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Coming up," she said, but didn't move from her spot. "Promise me you'll try to get some sleep tonight."

"That's up to the insomnia, not me," he said solemnly.

"We'll see about that," Cuddy told him, then refilled the coffee pot and got the oatmeal out of the cupboard.


	8. Chapter 8

"You need to get some sleep," Cuddy said.

"I need a lot of things," House replied coolly. "Right now one of those things is for you to leave me alone."

"Is it Kutner? Is that what's bothering you? Is that why you can't sleep?"

"Everything is bothering me, and I can't sleep because the damn insomnia won't let me."

She reached for the remote, only to have House grab it and hold it out of her reach. His eyes darkened and narrowed, a silent warning that he wasn't in the mood to play games. It was after midnight and he had made no indication that he was ready to call it a night.

"Needing to do something and actually doing it are two different things," House told her, sounding slightly irritated, then turned back to the television. He looked exactly like what he was--a man who hadn't slept for days--and Cuddy was getting more worried each minute he chose to stay out there instead of following her to the bedroom.

"You aren't driving to work tomorrow," she declared. "I'll take you."

"Whatever," he muttered with a dismissive wave.

"Come to bed."

"No."

"Come lie down with me. I'll help you relax."

"I'm fine right where I am."

"You can't stay up all night again."

"That's what you think." Casting an icy glance in her direction, he added, "It's always so easy for someone else to tell you what you can and can't do, especially when that someone has no idea what the other person is going through. Have you stayed up for days on end?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Because you had to or because you wanted to?"

Puzzled, Cuddy asked, "What do you mean? Why would I want to?"

"As a doctor you stay up all night because you are concerned about a patient. You stay up until you're sure the patient will pull through. When you were younger you needed to study for tests. I'm sure you pulled more than a few all-nighters in college."

"I did. I once spent four days studying for finals without sleep."

"Why?"

"I didn't have a choice. I had to do it so I could keep my grades up."

"You _did_ have a choice," House said. "You could have slept in and coasted your way through college with decent enough grades to make sure you got into med school. You didn't stay up for four days because you _had_ to, you stayed up because you _wanted _to. Lisa Cuddy would never allow herself to get a C. You hit the books for days on end and seeing that great big A on the test papers made staying up for ninety-six hours straight while living on coffee and chips from the vending machine all the more worth it. That's something you _wanted_ to do. You could have gone to bed anytime. You could have got your eight hours of shuteye. But you didn't. That was your _choice_. In the here and now I don't have one."

"House--"

"What am I supposed to do, Cuddy?" House growled. "What do you _want_ me to do? If I can't sleep then I can't sleep. Lounging in bed with you for a few hours isn't going to change anything. It'll just remind me that I can't sleep, and then I'll get even more wound up and keep you up all night, too. All I can do is just wait it out."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'll be out here watching TV if you need me."

"For how long?"

"As long as it fucking takes!" he erupted, barely waiting for her to finish asking her question.

She flinched away as if she had been slapped. From what seemed like miles away she heard him mutter "_shit_", then felt his hand cover hers.

"Hey," House murmured. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't take it out on at you. I'm not mad at you."

"Could have fooled me." She turned to face him, making sure he saw her red eyes and frown. Like hell she was just going to let him sit there and not make him see how upset he had made her.

"I'm not mad at you," he repeated pointedly. "I'm mad at myself for letting this happen and letting it upset you."

"I'm worried about you, House," she said.

"You worry about me too much. It takes up too much of your time."

"I worry about you because I care about you, and I care about you twenty-four hours a day."

"I know," he said with a hint of a smile. Cuddy was more than pleased to see that it touched his eyes.

"You can't keep this up much longer," she said. "What happens when all this catches up with you? What happens then?"

As she watched his smile faded, leaving his eyes ghostly pale and empty. "I'll just have to wait and see and hope you're nearby when it does," House answered. "There's nothing else I can do."


	9. Chapter 9

Wilson looked up from his newest patient's file to see Cuddy slip into his office. She had that 'I need to talk in private' look on her face. It could mean only one thing.

"You're worried about House, aren't you?" Wilson asked before Cuddy could say anything.

She nodded her head and shut the door. "He hasn't been sleeping."

Wilson waited for her to take a seat before he said, "How long?"

"He's barely slept a wink for four nights now. I don't think he's had a decent night's sleep since Kutner died."

"He's been an insomniac all his life, but I think Kutner probably has everything do with it this time. Maybe you should get him sleeping pills."

"I should do that," she agreed. "He's beating himself up over Kutner. I think he's starting to crack."

"He looked all right to me this morning. Tired, but all right. He was with his team in the conference room, doing a differential on his new patient."

"He's not all right," Cuddy told Wilson. "I didn't want him to come in at all, but he said he was going to get here one way or another. I drove him here this morning because I was afraid he was too tired to drive and would plow into a telephone pole. And there's what happened last night…"

Wilson studied his boss as he waited for her to continue: she was gnawing on her lower lip and staring at her wringing hands, filled trepidation. Something was definitely eating at her. She wouldn't come to him unless she really felt her back was against the wall and didn't have any other choice. Then he replayed her words in his mind and felt the pit of his stomach fall out. It couldn't be true, but...

"Cuddy," he began slowly, "did House _do_ something to you? Is that--"

"_What_?" Her head snapped up and her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Do something to me? What are you talking--" Then she realized exactly what he was talking about and let out a short, bewildered laugh. "Good God, Wilson, how can you even _think_ something like that? House is capable of a lot things, but even he wouldn't sink so low as to--"

"I know, I know." Wilson held up his hands in surrender as he felt the blush of embarrassment creep up his neck. She was right. How could he think that of his friend? He was beyond ashamed. "Why don't you fill me in on the details the before I make myself look like an even bigger idiot."

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, then softened. "Last night I woke up around three in the morning and heard someone talking out in the living room. At first I thought it was the TV, but after a while I realized it was House. He sounded agitated; I thought maybe he was talking to you on the phone...you know, he didn't want to wake me up so he called you in the middle of the night instead."

"He's done it before," Wilson said. "But he didn't call me last night."

"I know." Cuddy bit her lower lip again. "I heard House out there talking to someone. He was getting louder and louder and more upset. I thought for sure he was on the phone with you. He would say something and be quiet for a while like he was listening to someone else. Then I heard him say 'Go away, Amber, and leave me alone'."

Stunned, Wilson sat there a few moments with his jaw hanging open before he said, "You're sure he said the name Amber?"

"I'm positive."

"Does House know anyone else named Amber?"

"No."

Wilson thought about what Cuddy said for a few moments and hoped he wouldn't sound like an utter and complete moron when he spoke again. "Since he couldn't possibly be talking to Amber, who the hell was he talking to?"

"He was talking to someone who wasn't there. I went out there and he was sitting alone at the piano. He wasn't talking on the phone. I asked who he was talking to and he said he wasn't talking to anybody and I was just hearing things."

"He denied it," Wilson spoke up. It wasn't a question.

"Of course he did," she grumbled, frustrated. "And he kept denying it and I was too tired to argue with him for the rest of night. If anything good came out of it, I did get him to come to bed after that. He even slept for a while. He was up again before I was, but at least he got a few hours of sleep."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "You're sure about this, Cuddy? No offense, but you look like you could stand to catch up on your sleep, too."

"I know what I heard. I know he said the name Amber. He said he hadn't been talking at all, but I know he was. He--"

The door to Wilson's office opened and House loomed over her. "This is our Honeycomb Hideout. No girls allowed."

She turned to House and told him, "Then you should make a sign."

"I will," House said, and Cuddy had the sinking feeling that he meant it. Then his eyes hardened into blocks of ice. "You sitting in Wilson's office with the door closed can mean only one thing. Airing out our dirty laundry, Cuddy?"

No reason to deny it, so she replied, "I'm discussing my concerns about you to our friend."

"You're airing out our dirty laundry. How charming."

"Whatever you want to call it, our dirty laundry doesn't go past these walls," she assured him.

"It shouldn't have been brought inside these walls to begin with," House told her, sounding less than pleased. He looked over his shoulder as if someone else was behind him, but no one was there. "Wilson doesn't need a few extra loads added to his own."

Cuddy ignored him and said, "You need some sleeping pills."

"Do I?"

"Yes." She turned to see Wilson was already scribbling on his prescription pad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to her. In turn she held out to House. "You will take this. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."

Holding her steely gaze, House swiped the prescription out of her hand and crumpled it into his pocket without looking at it. "Anything else you'd like to _tell_ me before I kick your cute little ass out of here?"

"Yes." She stood up and walked over to House until she was toe to toe with him. "Don't even think of trying to sneak out of here. You will get that prescription filled. You will wait for me and my cute little ass will drive you home. You will take those pills tonight and you will get some sleep. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, Doctor," he said stonily, though she could see the coldness in his eyes melt a bit. "You're going to make sure I take these pills tonight even if you have to shove them down my throat yourself, am I right?"

"Absolutely," she said, and heard Wilson stifle a laugh.

"There's only one thing left to decide then," House said.

"What's that?

House grinned wickedly and replied, "Your place or mine?"


	10. Chapter 10

"You skipped your appointment with the psychiatrist," Cuddy said.

"I did," House replied nonchalantly. "So what?"

"Why did you do that?" She tried to hide her disappointment and failed miserably. "The shrink could have helped you, especially now."

"You're wrong. The shrink can't help what doesn't want to be helped. I just need some sleep and I'll be fine. Stop acting like I broke some sacred promise because I didn't. Pouting at me won't change my mind. What's done is done and I made the right decision."

"You really should have kept that appointment, House." This time she shamelessly let her sadness at his decision drip all over her words, not caring what he thought about it.

"I didn't. Too bad, so sad. Now let's move on."

"No. Tell me why you didn't keep that appointment."

"There's nothing to tell, Cuddy."

He glanced over his shoulder again. He had done that several times since they had arrived at her place.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Liar, she thought. "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?"

"I thought I heard something," he answered. "I'm tired and I'm hungry. Can you at least feed me before drugging me into a coma?"

Changing the subject. Very sneaky. Typical House. He wasn't going to tell her anything now and she decided it was better that he get some rest rather than arguing with him for the rest of the night. Reaching over to take his hand, she said, "You need some sleep and you need those drugs to help you sleep. Why don't you take them and go to bed now?"

"Because I'm hungry now, and I think a nice filling meal will help me sleep better." He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb along her palm. "Don't you think so, Dr. Cuddy?"

"I think so," Cuddy agreed.

They had hamburgers and chips. Cheese and lots of ketchup for him, a plain patty with A1 sauce for her. House despised A1 with the burning passion of a thousand white-hot suns. He made a big show of scowling at the bottle she brought to the table, but otherwise said nothing about his strange hatred for the sauce and wolfed down his burger. Cuddy kept up the conversation and kept the mood light; House seemed distant and distracted, looking over his shoulder at least twice while he was eating.

She brought the bottle of sleeping pills and a glass of water to the bedroom while he brushed his teeth, then set out a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt for him. A few minutes later he came limping in to the bedroom and glanced at the night clothes on the bed. He stripped off his jeans and button-down shirt and put on the night clothes without a word. She couldn't help but notice him tugging at his boxers, trying to hide the scar. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that it didn't bother her in the least. Cuddy handed him a sleeping pill and held out the water for him. He didn't take the water, instead he grinned, tipped the pill into his mouth and dry-swallowed it.

Setting the glass of water down on the night stand, Cuddy asked him, "You need anything else?"

"No, I'm good." House climbed into bed and flopped back into the pillow.

Unable to help herself, she sat down and brushed her hand against his scruffy cheek. "Those are some pretty strong pills. You'll be asleep before you know it."

"I know what they are," he said with a chuckle, pleased with attention she was doting on him. "But those pills have never been in _my_ system before. We'll see who knocks who out in a little while."

"Pills or not, get some sleep, House."

"Yes, Mommy."

"Call if you need anything," she said, and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I will," he promised as she switched off the lamp.

The rest of the evening was suppose to be spent enjoying the silence and catching up on her fashion magazines. It was too quiet and Cuddy found herself turning on the TV to compensate for the absence of House's running commentary. She then looked at the magazine in her lap and just absently flipped through the pages without really looking at them, her mind going to back to House, wondering if he was okay and if he would be okay. After nearly an hour she had to go check on him--he was completely zonked out. House fought the pills and the pills won, she thought with a grin. Thanks to one little prescription a tornado could come tearing the neighborhood and he would sleep right through it. Yet Cuddy found herself hoping that House was getting some of the rest he needed--at least in part--because he found some measure of comfort in her home and the attention she was lavishing on him. They were both shameless in that regard…not that either of them would ever admit it. Not in public, anyway.

A few hours later she joined him in bed. He was still out like a broken light. He was on his left side, facing her, one arm stretched out in front of him like he had been trying to touch something but gave up and just left his arm there. Out of habit she climbed in as carefully as possible even thought there would be no waking him up this time. She inched closer until she could hear him breathing, the long, steady breaths of someone in a deep sleep. Smiling even though no one could see her, she entwined her fingers in his and didn't let go as she drifted off.

A voice. House's voice. He was speaking very clearly, sounding wide awake and rested.

"I slept very well, thanks."

But she hadn't asked him anything. She had been sleeping and woke up when he spoke.

Cuddy's eyes flew open. It was morning, probably time to get up. She could see the sunlight shining on the opposite wall. Her back was to House. She heard the mattress springs squeak as he sat up and felt something very much like dread form a knot in her stomach when she heard him speak again.

"I spend the night here all the time, Amber. What are you going to do about it?"


	11. Chapter 11

Cuddy sat up and looked around the room. It was just the two of them. No one else there to be having a conversation with. House sat up and looked at her with a combination of surprise and dread.

"There's no one here," Cuddy said.

House blinked and said, "Of course not."

"Who on earth were you talking to then?"

"Nobody. I was talking in my sleep," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I do that all the time. You know that."

"You were not asleep. You're wide awake," she pointed out. "You were talking to somebody, House, and it wasn't me."

"No, I wasn't. You were just hearing things."

"And you just said you were talking in your sleep."

"I lied."

He tossed aside the covers and had one foot on the floor when Cuddy grabbed his wrist. "You were talking to Amber. I heard you say her name. I heard you say her name the other night, House." She waited for him to say something, but he just stared at the floor in a stony silence. "Why were you talking to someone who is dead, House?"

"I was not talking to someone who is dead. You didn't hear a thing. You're mistaken."

He wrenched his arm free and began to limp towards the door.

"Is this why you stopped seeing the psychiatrist? Because you were afraid to talk about this?"

"That has nothing to do with it," he answered tersely.

She got out of bed and cut him off before he could reach the hallway. "So you're admitting it."

"No, I'm not admitting anything. I'm just saying the shrink was a quack who charged 200 dollars an hour to fall asleep while listening to me talk. That's why I didn't go back. The goddamn yahoo wasn't listening to a damn thing I was saying in the first place."

"I'm listening, House," she said, bringing her hand up to his face. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here. You know that."

Gently pushing her hand away, he said, "I have nothing to say right now, except get out of my way. I'm hungry and I need some coffee."

Cuddy frowned. It had been a long time since he had rejected any kind of attention or calming gesture from her. Something was eating away at him, and he determined to keep it to himself. No matter what the cost. "You won't talk to me, but you'll talk to Amber."

"I wasn't talking to Amber. I wasn't talking to anybody."

"Is that who you see when you look over your shoulder?"

"Move, Cuddy."

"No." She stood her ground, blocking the doorway. "We're not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on."

House shrugged and turned around, limping back to the bed. "Have it your way. Stand there all day for all I care. In the meantime I'll take a nice little nap. While I'm asleep you can run and tell Wilson--" House paused and turned back around, a sly, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "But you already have. That's why you were in his office the other day. You were blabbing all about my new imaginary friend."

"You're admitting it again," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"Talk to me, House. Please."

"There's nothing to talk about." He sat down on the bed with his back to her.

"House--"

"_No_!"

She left the doorway and walked over to him. He wouldn't look at her. "I know why you're afraid."

"You don't know anything," he grumbled.

"You're afraid of losing everything."

"It's so easy for you to tell me that, isn't it? You've never been afraid of losing it all, have you?"

"I just--"

"Put yourself in a different pair of shoes for a moment, Cuddy. Let's say that visions of Amber are dancing around that other person's head, and that person is a doctor. If he's found to be mentally ill, he can't practice anymore. And then what? What else is he supposed to do? Who would be willing to hire a crazy, crippled…what else is he supposed to do, Cuddy?"

"He can get help," she said, tilting his head up until their eyes met. "He will get the best help there is. I'll make sure of that."

He pushed her hand away again. "What if he doesn't want any help? What if he insists there is nothing wrong with him and there's not a damn thing anybody can do to prove otherwise. What happens then, Cuddy?"


	12. Chapter 12

He avoided her for days after that. He ignored her pages. He wasn't in his office the few times she stopped by, and he did a 180 whenever he saw her in the corridor. Twice she chased him only to turn the corner and find he had vanished into thin air. Strangely he seemed to be yammering away on his phone all those days, the Bluetooth piece clearly visible in his ear. But Cuddy knew damn good and well that House avoided the phone nearly as much as clinic duty. Who could he be talking to for hours on end?

Of course she stopped by Wilson's office and filled him in on what was going on. Wilson promised to keep an eye on his friend and let her know of any more weird behavior. Well, anything that could be considered weirder for House, anyway. But House wasn't talking to him, either. Not even stopping by his table at lunch to steal his fries.

It seemed like forever and a day before she was able to glance up from the flurry of files and paperwork and notice that she should have been home at least an hour ago. She made one last stop at House's office before leaving, and frowned at the sight of his empty desk and pictured him in his apartment, brooding over his predicament and seeing someone who wasn't there.

She couldn't prove any of it. He was right about that.

She wondered what it would it take to prove her suspicions. She wondered what it would take to get House to admit that he needed some help.

The need to make sure he was all right outweighed the possibility of having his barbed tongue cut her to the bone, and she found herself driving past his apartment. No lights. No sign of his motorcycle. Where the hell could he be, she thought with an ever increasing mix annoyance and dread. Probably at some bar drinking his troubles away, all the while filling the bartender in on all the details of his nagging boss. There were dozens and dozens of bars he could be at. It was too late to try and hunt him down, and she was too tired to even attempt such an exercise in futility. Even if by sheer luck she managed to find stumble across the bar he calling home for a few hours, he'd never leave without flinging a few barbed insults in her direction first. With a heavy sigh and a glance of the dark smudges under her eyes in the rearview mirror, Cuddy turned her car around and headed home. Please call a cab to take you home if you get too drunk, she thought, then pictured the long, hot bath she was going to take before working herself up about House all over again.

The hot bath plan went right out the window the second she saw a motorcycle in her driveway.

"House?" she called as soon as she stepped inside. His jacket was draped over the sofa.

He usually waited for her in the kitchen, killing time with a snack and a card game. In there she found an coffee cup and plate in the sink. A half-finished game of solitaire lay on the table.

"House?" she called again.

She heard a faint reply drift down the hall, "_Cuddy_."

He was in the bedroom, sprawled on top of the covers. Switching on the light, she said, "House, are you all right?" as she rushed to his side.

"Took a pill," he slurred, his eyes dazed.

"Pill?"

"Those." His hand flopped in the general direction of the lamp.

The sleeping pills. The bottle was on her night stand. He had brought them with him. It was kicking in and he was trying his damnedest to stay awake so he could say what he wanted to say.

"How many did you take?" she asked, alarmed.

"Just one. Just one. Damn, they're _gooooood_…."

So they are, she thought. "Why did you take one now?" Cuddy puzzled, and tried to maneuver him around so he wouldn't take up the whole bed. As if sensing what she was trying to do, House managed to more or less drag himself over to his side. "The sun has barely gone down and you want to sleep?"

"I like sleep."

"So do I. But why are you here and not at your apartment? Is there something you want to tell me?"

He scowled and muttered, "I _need_ to tell you…sleep is the only way I can…I can get her to leave me alone for a while," before falling back onto the pillow with a gasp.

As her stomach knotted itself over and over again, Cuddy asked hesitantly, "Who, House? Who won't leave you alone?" Nevermind that she already knew the answer.

"Christ, she won't _shut up_…"

"Who--"

Looking past her, over her shoulder, House shrieked, "Just _shut up_ already!"

"House!" She seized his face between her hands. "Who won't leave alone? Who is it?"

"_Her_." He pointed at the empty space at end of the bed.

"Who is it?"

His face twisted in anguish as he finally confessed: "It's Amber…Amber. She won't go away. She won't…and I can't take it _anymoooorrrre_…"

He pushed her hands away and sobbed quietly into the pillow. How much he actually wanted to tell her and how much the pills inadvertently made him tell her would remain a mystery. His visions of Amber had beat him and now he was forced to seek help and was ashamed as much as he was scared. It was time to face the music and he wasn't ready to deal with it yet. Could he ever be ready for this? He took the sleeping pill to escape the inevitable as much to escape Amber. She stayed with him and shed a few tears of her own as he stopped fighting the drugs and let sleep overtake him. All the she promised him she would see that everything would fine. A promise she wasn't sure she could keep. A promise she hoped he wouldn't hold her to.

After he began to draw the long deep breaths of sleep, she went to the closet for the spare blanket. He didn't move as she covered him with it and tucked him in. He was free from his troubles and would be until the next morning. Free from Amber. Seeking refuge in the one place no one could touch him. She gently stroked his tear-streaked cheek a few times, then picked up the phone and called Wilson.


	13. Chapter 13

"Whoa, hold on," Wilson said. "Tell me again what he told you."

"He said that Amber wouldn't shut up and it was driving him crazy," Cuddy replied, switching the phone to her other ear as she lightly stroked the hair at House's temple.

"Then he broke down?"

"He broke down," she echoed quietly so she wouldn't disturb House, even though he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. "He said he couldn't stand listening to Amber anymore and broke down crying."

"You said he took a sleeping pill."

"He did. Apparently he's been knocking himself out so he doesn't have to listen to her."

"Are you sure he took just one?"

"He said he took a pill, not pills. He was pretty out of it by the time I got here, but I believe him. If he wanted to swallow the whole bottle he wouldn't have been in my home waiting for me to walk in on him. He would have locked himself in his own apartment. Besides, I'm sitting right next to him and he's fine in that regard. He just wanted to go to sleep."

She looked down at the man they were discussing as he slept on, bathed in the golden light emanating from the bedside lamp. The fact that he was still long gone even with the light on or her talking on the phone spoke volumes by itself. Quiet and darkness were the two things House demanded when he went to bed. Now he was sleeping right through two of his pet peeves. Cuddy didn't think he would wake up even if a cannon went off in the room.

Wilson said, "So, do you think he's finally asking for help?"

"It looks that way," Cuddy agreed. "Except he wasn't able to tell me what sort of help he wanted before the sleeping pill knocked him on his ass."

"I guess we'll find out. Bring him in to my office tomorrow and lets find out what he wants…if anything."

"I will…but, Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"Why Amber? Why is he seeing Amber? Of all the people--"

The oncologist broken in with, "I'd like to know that myself. But I think we're missing the bigger picture here. I think the question we should be asking is why is he seeing anybody at all?"

* * *

"Can you arrange it?" House asked Wilson, after announcing he wanted to check into a mental health facility.

Cuddy watched as Wilson fought hard to choke back the lump in his throat as he answered, "Of course, if that's what you want."

"This is the last thing in the world that I want."

Though he had slept at least fourteen hours, waking up halfway through that only long enough to down a Vicodin, House looked anything but rested. Cuddy had managed to drag House into Wilson's office around noon, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. Later, Cuddy would say it was exactly that; that he hadn't woke up until mid-morning and it took three cups of coffee before he was ready to come in, still wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before.

Scowling and looking down at his shoes, House said, "I think a little discretion is in order here. If you want to broadcast that I've finally snapped, at least wait until I'm out of the building."

Wilson said, "We're not going to annouce it over the radio."

"Are you sure? Maybe you think it's time to teach me another lesson in humility."

"You know better than to think that, House," Cuddy told him, some anger bubbling over into her words.

"I should," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "But I don't."

"I'll make this as easy as possible," Wilson assured his friend.

"Sure. Thanks." House sounded anything but grateful.

"House?" Wilson said, quietly and carefully, like he was trying not to spook a nervous animal.

"What?"

"Can you see Amber now?"

"Yes, she's here."

Wilson blinked, then asked, "What is she doing?"

House looked around the office before he answered, "Sitting on your couch with Kutner."

The sudden gulp of breath sounded incredibly loud to Cuddy's ears, but House didn't seem to notice or didn't care. He continued to stare at his feet as he waited for someone to ask the obvious question.

It was Cuddy who asked it. "How long have you been seeing Kutner?"

"Since I walked into this office."

Cuddy looked over and noticed that he was gripping his cane so hard his knuckles were white and threatened to cut through his skin.

"House--," Wilson began.

"Don't," House broke in. "No more questions. No more telling me things are going to be just fine and dandy when they aren't. I've run out of second chances. If you want to do me a favor, just get on the phone and make the damned arrangements. I'll be in my office."

House got up and left, but didn't slam the door behind him. Cuddy would later guess it was because House wanted to play it discrete till the end.


	14. Chapter 14

As Wilson made the arrangements for House at the psychiatric hospital, Cuddy made plans at Princeton Plainsboro to put House on an indefinite leave of absence and reassign his team. Since House refused to give Foreman a straight answer while packing up a few things in his office, Cuddy did, leaving out as many gory details as possible. Foreman only nodded and wished House good luck but every person in the room knew he would be telling everyone that this had been a long time coming as soon as House was out of earshot.

She didn't want him to be left alone, so she had him sit in her office while she tied up a few loose ends regarding his impending leave of absence. Thankfully he didn't bitch and moan too much and managed to distract himself with his laptop for the time being. More than once she heard him muttering and answering questions that she hadn't asked. "Amber's just being pissy," House explained, sounding a little edgy when he caught her staring at him in confusion. "She's not happy about the little vacation we're going to take."

His use of the word "we're" had made Cuddy's skin crawl.

"Is Kutner here?" she had to ask.

"Yes, he's still here."

"What does he have to say?"

"Nothing much. He's just along for the ride. Amber still thinks she's running the show," House answered, looking at the empty seat next to him on her sofa.

Cuddy watched House talk to someone who wasn't there for another minute, then nearly had to hold her arm down to keep it from shaking as finished up her paperwork.

* * *

Cuddy said, "You need to eat something," as she punched in the number for pizza delivery on his phone.

The suitcase was at the other end of the sofa. They had packed it a half hour before. There were too many clothes in it. House was going to be gone for who knows how long and she was going to go mad with worry.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"You haven't eaten anything all day," Cuddy reminded him, then ordered a large combination pizza with cheesy sticks and Pepsi.

He waited until she was off the phone before he declared, "I'm not hungry."

She asked him, "Did you eat breakfast?"

"No."

"Did you eat lunch?"

"No."

He hadn't eaten a damn thing all day and now it was nearly six in the evening. The only thing that had hit his stomach in the last twenty-four hours were his various pills and the soda she had brought him from the vending machine at the hospital.

"You are going to eat at least one slice," she told him in her best 'I'm not asking you, I'm telling you' voice. "I got those cheesy sticks you like. Then we can watch whatever you want on TV for a while. How does that sound?"

"Fine. Whatever."

She edged closer until their hips were touching. "House," she began slowly, "what did you mean when you said that you were out of second chances?"

"Just that. I've survived being shot, a bus crash, sticking a knife in an outlet, more than a few overdoses, a heart attack, a cracked skull and a seizure. It's funny how it would be my own mind that would finally do me in."

"You're going to be fine," Cuddy reassured him. "You're going to get through this. I _know_ you, House. I know you're too damned stubborn to let this get the better of you--"

"It already has."

"--you've survived being shot, the bus crash and everything else. You will get through this and I will help you any way I can."

House let those words sink in for a minute, then turned to her and asked, "You'll be with me the whole night?"

"Of course. Wilson will pick us up tomorrow at eight o'clock."

"You'll be with me in the morning?" he went on, not really listening to her answers.

"You know I will." She frowned, and placed hand on his shoulder. He reached up and grabbed it, holding on for dear life. "What is it, House?"

"What happens if I wake up and you're not there? What happens then, Lisa?"

The use of her first name came out of left field and threw her of her bearings for a moment. "House, Greg, I'm not--"

"What happens, Lisa? If you're not here I may as well not bother coming back at all…" He trailed off, and it was then that Cuddy saw the fear in his eyes.

"I am not leaving you, House," she reassured him. "I couldn't possibly leave you at time like this. Is that what you're afraid of? That I'm just going to up and leave you when you need someone here with you the most?"

House said in a low, desperate voice, "How do I know that you won't disappear right before my eyes right now?"

"What on earth--"

House pointed to empty space in front of the television and shakily said, "Two dead people are standing right there. I see them and hear them just like I see and hear you. They shouldn't be there, but there they are. How do I know you're really here with me? How can I be sure that all the time we've spent together hasn't been another goddamn hallucination? Am I going to wake up tomorrow and find out this has all been a lie, Lisa? Is that what's going to happen? Should I just say goodbye to you right now and hope it doesn't hurt as much as I think it will?"


	15. Chapter 15

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A/N: This is the last chapter. Thanks to all my readers. Without you I'm nothing!

* * *

He ate a slice of pizza and one cheesy stick, more to make her stop nagging him than because he was hungry; that she knew for a fact. She ate a slice just to keep his snide comments at bay even though her appetite had died the second he mentioned his fear of their relationship being just another hallucination.

House didn't want her out of his sight for the rest of the evening; it took over an hour's worth reassurances that she wasn't going anywhere if he happened to look away for a moment. She further placated House by turning on one of his monster truck shows and curling up with him. House calmed down a bit and watched his show for a while, muttering an answer to an invisible question every now and then.

Then she nearly went through the ceiling when House suddenly snarled, "I am _not_ changing my mind, so just fucking _back off _already!"

She could feel her heart pounding against her breastbone and her fingers digging into his side "House…?" Cuddy gasped.

House explained, "Amber is trying to talk me out of going to the loony bin," as he dug her fingers out of his skin, then put his arm around her to calm her down; essentially doing for her what she had doing for him a few moments earlier. "She keeps calling me 'McMurphy' and asking me if I've ever seen _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_."

"Loony bin?" she questioned with a frown.

"Her words, not mine."

I don't think it works that way, Cuddy thought but kept it to herself. Instead she asked, "You're not going to let her talk you out of this, are you?"

"No."

"Why doesn't she want you to go?"

"Because if I go, she goes. Get it?"

Cuddy wasn't quite sure she got it, but now wasn't the time to argue with him and get him all upset again. "Yes," she replied. "What does Kutner have to say about it?"

"Nothing."

"Is he here?"

House tilted his head towards the end of the sofa and said, "He's over there, watching TV."

"Why does Amber do all the talking?" Cuddy turned and stared at the empty space next to her, feeling ice cold shivers run down her spine. He could see a dead man sitting right there and he was acting like it was something that happened every day. Cuddy shivered again and looked away. "Why doesn't Kutner say anything?"

House paused for a few beats before saying, "Amber never forgave me for firing her. She wants me to know that. Kutner wants to know why I didn't see his suicide coming. He's waiting for an explanation I don't have."

Those answers swirled around her head as she had watched the giant trucks roll over junk cars on the television. "That doesn't make any sense, House. No matter what you do, you can't change what happened."

"No, I can't," he agreed.

* * *

She felt the warm puffs of his breath against her neck as he slept on.

The sleeping pills were still on the night stand. She hadn't wanted him to take any as she had wanted to spend some more time with him before he had to leave. House said Amber was getting on his nerves and that he was three seconds away from throwing something across the room unless he could get some peace and quiet. Cuddy herself had opened the bottle and tipped the pill in his hand. House actually thanked her and strangely played with her hair until the pill kicked in.

She stared into the dark bedroom, thinking about the suitcase in the living room. About how full it was. About how long it would be until House could come back home. Neither knew the answer to that and it was a kick to the gut for both of them.

Deliberately keeping her gaze away from the clock, she looked down at the sleeping House. Time did not exist in that room. Time was a mystery and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. She did not want to know how many more minutes she had with him until they had to say their goodbyes.

* * *

House sat up front with Wilson and barely said a word during the drive. The day was overcast and cold and dreary, fitting perfectly with everyone's respective mood. Thankfully the heater was in perfect working order. For a while the sky threatened rain but the threat turned out to be empty. The silence was thick enough to grasp. It was only when Wilson got off the highway that Cuddy noticed that he hadn't even turned the radio on.

The Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital loomed over the parking, and Cuddy's stomach knotted at the sight of it. It was as gray and ugly as the cloudy sky. It looked the set of a horror film, but it was the real thing and House was going to be living there for who knows how long. She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. House acknowledged the gesture by covering her hand with his.

Wilson parked and wordlessly got out of the car, followed by House and Cuddy. The oncologist got the heavy suitcase out of the trunk and set it at House's feet. The diagnostician mumbled a thank you.

"Sure," Wilson said, then awkwardly added, "Good luck."

House gave his friend a questioning look but said nothing.

"I'll visit as soon as I can."

"Damn right you will."

The very House-like comment made Wilson smile for the first time that morning.

The diagnostician turned to Cuddy. "Here," he said, then took off his watch. Kutner's Christmas gift to him. "Keep this in a safe place for me."

"I will," she said, taking it and holding it as if were so fragile it would shatter with the next gust of wind.

"If that's not working when I get back, you're buying me a Rolex."

"Okay."

Cuddy couldn't make herself smile.

House asked her, "You'll visit me the first chance you get?"

"Every chance I get," she clarified.

"Good." He seemed pleased with her answer as he gave her a quick kiss. "I'll see you later, then."

House turned and began to drag his suitcase to the front door where several hospital staff were waiting for him. Cuddy felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she watched him limp to the door one staff member was holding open for him, and another take his suitcase. She felt the tears begin to fall as she watched him disappear into the building and the door shut behind him, leaving only the gray building and gray day for her to see.

--The End.


End file.
